


Nothing in Common

by GoodJanet



Category: Actor RPF
Genre: Banter, Double Entendre, Ficlet Collection, Fluff and Smut, Implied Sexual Content, Jealousy, Kissing, Light Angst, M/M, Making Love, Old Friends, Period Typical Attitudes, Secret Relationship, Teasing, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-17 07:43:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 5,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5860192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoodJanet/pseuds/GoodJanet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A compilation of all my Bob and Bing fics. Snapshots of their relationship and their bickering.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Teamwork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _We'll give 'em that teamwork, cheek to cheek_

“What do you think Paramount would say if we sent them a reel of this and said it was our new act?”

Bing grunts and then laughs. He tries and fails not to roll his eyes along with his hips.

“They’d probably ask who we got to film it and how before they fired us.”

Bob’s laugh is cut off when Bing goes deep. He always figured it’d be this good. The man had enough kids for a baseball team; it makes sense for this to be his area of expertise.

“They can’t afford to fire us.”

“Hush now,” Bing admonishes, moving his hips.

“Oh!”

Bing smiles.

“Can you imagine, Bing? Being in love with a business partner?”

Bing wrinkles his nose.

“Perish the thought.”


	2. Kiss It Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bob and Bing get ready for bed.

“Not tonight, honey. I have a headache.”

“Awww, sugar, let me kiss it better.”

"Now wait just a—!” Bob only stops protesting due to the fact that his lips were suddenly otherwise occupied. Bing pulls back, smirking.

“You were saying?”

“I was gonna ask why we’re still sitting over here when the bed’s over there. Try and keep up, old man.”

“Old man, he says,” Bing mutters, following Bob to the bed. “We are the same age, you know.”

Bob hops onto the mattress and sprawls out. Bing watches him from the foot of the bed, and Bob tries to ignore the butterflies that erupt low in his belly. He lets his eyes fall shut in an attempt to appear under control.

“Is this how you get those girls of yours in bed? Or do you lecture at them until you give up and realize I’m all you’ve got?”

“Oh, don’t worry. You’re different from those girls, Bob. You’re missing a few key parts.”

“Only my tailor knows for sure.”

"I'm talking about what's between those ears, brother," Bing says as he joins him on the bed.

“Look who’s talking about ears.” Bing places a hand in the center of his chest, and Bob’s eyes fly open. “You’ll be gentle with me, won’t you?”

“All that vaudeville has given you an unflattering flair for the dramatic.”

“Me? Dramatic?” Bob asks, batting his eyes. He’s not nervous.

“I could always try and beat it out of you. I’m always willing to help a friend,” Bing says.

The hand on his chest walks itself up into his hair and gently plays with his soft locks. And just how did Bing know he liked to be petted?

“Hey, you called us friends! Maybe I’ve been making better progress with you than I thought. I knew you’d come around,” Bob quips.

He gives that devilish, slow smile of his, and Bing remembers why he loves spending so much time with his partner. He can see how much Bob wants to please and tease him in equal measure. It shouldn’t work, this thing between them. They’re both brutal and sharp and go right for the jugular, but there’s something about that smile that reminds Bing that they’re on the same team. He imagines that Bob feels the same.

“Now don’t go throwing your weight around, though heaven knows you can’t help it. You can’t hurl such cruelties at me and expect me to take it,” Bing admonishes. He throws his arm over his eyes for good measure, holding his other hand out as if to hold back Bob’s advances.

“Alright, I surrender. I’ll try not to offend your delicate sensibilities. But don’t keep me waiting anymore, dear. I’m liable to fall asleep.”

“Don’t think I’d let that stop me.”

“You’re a dirty old man,” Bob says before leaning in for a kiss.

“Then what, pray tell does that make you?” Bing asks.

“Yours.”


	3. Heat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bob tells Bing how he feels. It takes a moment or two, but Bing warms up to the idea.

“If you’re worried you’re going to tarnish my reputation, don’t,” Bob jokes as Bing tentatively rests a hand on his shoulder.

They’ve done this before, among other things. Their entire act was built on pats on the back, fake fights, hugs, and even kisses. But it hadn’t really meant anything. Not really.

Bing’s fingers grip him a little tighter.

Okay, maybe it had.

“You alright, dad?” Bob asks.

Bing pulls his eyes away from his hand to meet Bob’s. Wow. They sure were blue.

“I’m fine. Just fine.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t’ve told you. Must be all this heat we’ve been getting…”

And that probably wasn’t the best choice of words, but dammit, everything felt so strange all of a sudden. Like they didn’t even know how to talk to each other. Like they were total strangers.

“Heat, huh?”

This time there’s a hint of a smile. The hand on his shoulder travels up to cup the side of his neck. Timid fingers caress his neck and play with the hair at the nape of his neck. Bob shivers.

"Cold?"

“More like just the opposite.”

“And you want me to stroke your fire,” Bing asks.

“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘stoke.’”

“I know what words I mean to use.”

Bob can’t help but keen at that. Bing looks altogether too proud of himself. He wants Bob to do it again.

“Don’t go thinking you can take advantage of me whenever you like just ‘cause I’m sweet on you,” Bob warns.

“Now that you mention it, that sounds like a mighty nice idea.”

Emboldened, Bing’s other hand comes up. It only takes a moment for him to hold Bob’s face between his hands and lean in for a kiss.

There’s a long moment where they stay connected before the kiss deepens. It’s an odd experience, really, to feel sharper angles and stubble and the hint of a foreign tongue where one had never been before. They are slow to pull away.

“Well?” Bing asks.

“Well?” Bob questions, panting slightly.

“Well, it obviously lived up to your expectations, but it does a man good to hear it from a partner, you know. For what it’s worth, I didn’t mind it all. It’s good to know you can use that mouth for something other than hiding your foot,” Bing says.

Bob shakes his head. That’s what he gets for falling for his egotistical, self-centered, bull-headed—

“Right, and I’m giving you a standing ovation,” Bob dead pans.

“Watch it, junior. I think we'd better not talk about standing ovations,” he says pointedly.

Bob feels his face heat. Crosby didn’t miss a beat.

"I can't help it, dad,” he demurs.

Bing smiles and says, “That’s alright, my boy. Come on over tonight, and maybe you can make it up to me.”

Bob perks back up.

“Yes, sir!”


	4. A Proposition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prison AU. Bob and Bing meet up in a jail for Hollywood stock. Bing takes interest in the newest member of his cell block: Bob Hope.

They put him in a uniform with his prison number across the front, and that’s when it really hits him.

“PRMNT1938!? No, no, there must be some kind of mistake! I can’t be in prison! I’m only an actor!”

A guard grabs him by the arm.

“Actor, huh? They must be using that term loosely nowadays. Now keep your trap shut and your head down and say hello to your new roommate!”

Without further ado, Bob finds himself unceremoniously shoved in a cell. He hears the door slam shut behind him, followed by a loud and rapid jangling of keys. Bob scrambles back on his feet and races to the bars.

“Hey! Hey, wait a minute!” he shouts at the guard’s retreating back. “Wait!”

“It’s no use, brother. No one’s gonna listen to you if you’re hollering like that. They'll put you in solitary.”

Bob spins back around, heart pounding. His eyes dart to the occupied bottom bunk where a man about his age—but probably much, much older—sits with a book in his lap and a pipe in his mouth. The man isn’t even looking at him. He turns a page.

“They let guys smoke in here?”

The man laughs.

“They let me smoke in here.”

Bob frowns.

“Well what kind of backwards logic is that?”

The man slams his book shut and stands up slowly. It’s just calculated enough that it makes Bob nervous. As the man approaches him, he walks away from him backwards until he feels his back hit the bars. It’s mere seconds before they are standing face to face.

“Look, if you’re gonna kill me, do it quick. I’ve heard how bad the medical staff is here. All I ask is that you leave my face alone.”

He’s only minutely relieved when the man gives him an easy smile and a slow once over.

“So what’s your real name, Mr. PRMNT1938?”

“B-B-Bob Hope,” he stutters.

“Well, ba-ba-Bob Hope, I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”

He holds out a hand to shake, and Bob flinches.

“Easy, junior. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

Bob’s not convinced, but he takes the guy’s hand and gives it a shake.

“What about you? What’s your real name, Mr. PRMNT1931?” Bob asks, peaking down at his serial number.

“Harry Crosby. But everyone here calls me Bing.”

“Why do they call you Bing?”

“There’s sure to be plenty of time for that later. If they sent you here, you’ve got at least ten years to serve.”

Bing wanders back to his bunk, and Bob follows him for lack of anything else to do. Bing picks up his book again. It appears are though he’s halfway through a well-worn copy of _Gone with the Wind_.

“So how long are you in for?” Bob asks.

“Long enough for me to have read this eleven times already.”

Bing ducks his head back down, and Bob guesses that meant that the conversation was over. He wants to ask him why he doesn’t just pick out a new book from the library or have a new one sent to him, but he doesn’t want to make his roommate angry. Not when they were sleeping mere feet from each other. Bob climbs up the ladder to his own bunk and plops himself down.

It was strange having nothing to do. No work schedules or scripts to memorize or routines to give. No fan mail or troops or USO girls or rounds of applause. No candlelight dinners or tuxedos or buttons and bows. No nothing. A lump forms in his throat, and he hates himself for it. It was stupid. This whole situation was ridiculous, and he only had himself to blame. If only he had just listened! He sniffles.

He hears Bing slam his book shut.

“Are you gonna go soft on me, Robert? The other inmates will eat you alive if they think you’re soft.”

“I ain’t soft!” Bob protests. Bing doesn’t respond. “Well, it’s not like I’m doing it on purpose.”

There’s a soft rustling noise, and it’s a matter of moments before he sees Bing’s head pop up over the tips of his shoes. He quickly sits up, giving Bing room to fold his arms on the bed and to lean forward on the ladder. If Bob didn’t know any better, this would feel like summer camp.

“Look, son, I understand you’re new and scared and all that hooey, but for your own good, don’t let any of that show. You’re a mildly attractive fellow with a nice ex-career. Everyone out there is gagging for you already. Don’t go and make things harder for yourself.”

“That's ridiculous. And how do you know all that? How do you know they’re ‘gagging’ for me?”

He wishes his voice hadn’t cracked at the end.

“Personal experience,” Bing replies. "Everyone in here is old news. You're fresh meat."

Bob gulps.

“Are you telling me that you’re—that you feel that way about me too?” One of Bing’s hands lifts off the bed and comes to rest on Bob’s knee, which he guesses is answer enough. “What if I refuse?”

“Then someone else will take you,” he replies, hand rubbing gentle circles on Bob’s calf. “And you’ll have much less of a say with someone else than you would with me.”

“Oh, don’t try to make it out like you’re helping me. I was warned about situations like these!”

“What did they tell you to do?”

Bing climbs up the last few rungs and soon he is sitting on the top bunk with Bob, who’s fairly certain his pulse is going so fast that basic equipment would be unable to measure it.

“Fight and scream and punch and whatnot.”

“Sounds logical.”

Bing rests a hand on his inner thigh, which Bob is about to protest when he hears a moaning sound heard through the wall. Bob looks confused.

“What was that?”

“That would be our amorous neighbors. A lovely Italian couple, Mr. CLMBIA1943 and Mr. PRMNT1949.”

“Italians? They send mobsters here?”

“Robert, if there is a brain at all between those two ears of yours, you’ll take their advice.”

Bing’s sentiment is punctuated by another loud moan. It suddenly occurred to Bob that he’d never heard two men go at it together. Come to think of it, how did they work around…? Oh.

“That eureka moment of yours just made you five shades more striking. You should try having them more often.”

“Shut up and quit telling me what to do. And stop grabbing my leg; it’s not for sale!”

Bing pulls away with a laugh, and this time it actually sounds genuine. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. Humor had always gotten him through the worst of things. It didn’t get much worse than prison.

“I suppose after the long day you’ve had, I should leave you alone,” Bing says. He crawls back to the end of the bed and mounts the ladder. “But I’m only a ladder away if you should change your mind.”

Bob lets out a deep sigh when Bing goes back down to his bunk. Change his mind? No, no, no. That would be insanity. Preposterous. Lunacy… Wouldn’t it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't decide why Bing would be in jail until I happened to do a dictionary and thesaurus search for the word "bing." I found these gems:
> 
> "bing" (noun)
> 
> -A packet of narcotics; bindle (1920s+)  
> -A prison cell used for solitary confinement; the HOLE (1950s+ Prison)
> 
> And this as well...
> 
> bing (noun. subcutaneous injection)
> 
> -Hypodermal injection  
> -Injection


	5. Credit where Credit is Due

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite what Bob may believe, Bing does know what a joke is.

“Would you ever tell anyone?” Bob asks, lips touching lips.

“About us?” Bing counters, perplexed. Distracted, he struggles with the buttons on Bob’s shirt. “Why would I?”

“I don’t know. As a joke, maybe.”

Bing pulls away to look at Bob, who’s sitting on the edge of the bed next to him.

“I know I’m just a crooner to you, but give me some credit of knowing what a joke is.”

The corner of Bob’s mouth twitches up. A thousand one-liners filter through his mind, but he tamps them down.

“No foolin’?” Bob asks.

Bing kisses him again.

“No foolin’.”


	6. Soft Lips, Weak Knees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bob is ticklish. Bing is not amused.

“Oooh, that tickles!” Bob coos.

He’s half joking, using that baby talking tone that Crosby hates. But on the other hand, it really does tickle when Bing puts his lips there. Bing picks his head up.

“Is there a problem, Robert?”

He looks so annoyed that Bob can’t help but laugh some more.

“No, no, you’re doing just fine. It’s my knees. I can’t help it!”

“Are you positive I’m only a few weeks older than you?” Bing asks.

“Just what are you implying, dad?”

“Only that you’re a child,” he retorts.

Bob gives up when Bing’s mouth returns elsewhere.


	7. Teed Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bob and Bing play golf.

“Okay, kid, I gotta know something,” Bing begins. “And I won’t be upset if it’s true. God knows I’ve tried it myself.”

Bob gives him a curious look.

“Spit it out, darling. You’re making me nervous.”

Bing swings his club, and his ball lands on the green.

"It's a highly indelicate question," Bing warns. "Wouldn't even mention it in polite company."

"Bing," Bob says, impatient.

“Did you and Dottie ever, ah, go off on the road together?”

Bob's eyebrows shoot up. Gee, that _was_ a doozy of a question. He tries to play it off.

“Is that all?”

They make their way to the green, while Bing wishes he hadn't asked and while Bob wishes he hadn't either.

“I guess it's none of my business," Bing says.

“Well, I asked her, and she slapped me. How’d you fare?”

Bob was always perceptive like that. He always saw through him until he reached the reasoning behind something. 

“I kissed her hard, and she slapped me harder."

Bing finishes his putt, and Bob holds off his glee until he's completed his turn.

“A couple of heels, aren’t we?” Bob says, grinning.

“The worst.”


	8. Throw Away the Key

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What to expect when Bing is expecting.

Bing was half-convinced that Bob was asleep, what with the way his fisherman’s cap was tugged low over his eyes. They haven’t gotten a bite in over an hour. Now was probably as good a time as any to tell Bob the news.

“Say, junior?”

“Yeah?” Bob replies.

“We’re gonna have a baby.”

Bob goes still for a moment before shifting slightly in his deck chair.

“If you think that just because I’ve been blessed with good birthing hips that I’m having one of yours, you’re off your rocker.”

Bing huffs a laugh and reels in his line.

“Can’t you be serious? Tell me you’re not mad,” Bing says.

“Bing, if I got mad every time you had a kid, they’d lock me up.”

Bing laughs and breathes a sigh of relief.

“They probably should anyway.”

Bob snorts.

There's a moment where neither of them say anything and the only sound is the water lapping at the boat. Bing is well aware that another baby will mean less time spent together and more time spent with midnight feedings and diaper changes. He doesn't think Bob will be truly angry, but he wanted to be sure he heard it from him first.

"Congrats, dad."

"Thanks, junior."

Bing smiles and throws out his line again.


	9. June in January

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bing gets a little too cozy with a girl at a war bond rally for Bob's liking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Bing's song of the same name: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S-Rdc8Dz6I0

“Come on and dance with me, Crosby.”

“Hey, let go of me. I don’t know where those hands have been. If I’m seen dancing with you, it’ll spoil my chances of dancing with one of these cute little mice here. 

Bob takes his hands off his hips and rolls his eyes. He and gestures to the room of dancers who had congregated for the live music and war bond rally.

“Do you really think any of these kindergartners want to dance with an old timer like you?” Bob asks.

The moment the words are out of his mouth, a girl with $50 in her hands approaches them, ponytail swinging with each step.

“Well, well, well! How can I help you, my good lady?” Bob asks. He makes a big show stepping in front of Bing and bowing. Like some half-baked knight in shining armor.

The girl smiles politely, blushing, and Bob thinks she’s so pretty that he might die. He hopes he doesn't look too much like a dirty old man.

“Hello," she says. Her face and voice is all smiles. "I saved up to buy a bond, but the lines were so long earlier, so I waited until now. I heard fifty dollars got you a dance."

Bing side-eyes Bob, who pretends he didn't notice.

“Your donation is greatly appreciated, Miss…?” Bing prompts.

“June.”

“Miss June.”

“Well, if you wanted a dance, honey, you should’ve just said so!” Bob butts in, reaching for her money.

The girl clutches it to her chest before he can take it, and Bob stops short. Bing looks entirely too pleased with himself, but at least he doesn't laugh. Oh no, that would come later. Bob knew from experience.

“I’m terribly sorry, Mr Hope, but I saved this up for a dance with Mr. Crosby.”

Bing lets out a soft laugh, and Bob feels his face heat. June looks curiously between them, but she doesn't take either of them too seriously. They rarely gave her a reason to do so.

“It would be my pleasure to go around the room with you, my sweet.”

He offers her his arm, and June looks like she’s going to melt. Bing peeks over his shoulder as he escorts her to the floor, just in time to see Bob send a rude gesture his way. In retaliation, he holds June just little more tightly; June certainly doesn't complain. He’s sure he’ll hear it from Bob later, when they were back aboard the train and speeding off to a new city for a new fundraiser.

Bing lets his hands slip down lower still until he knew he was blurring the line of what was considered socially acceptable. He does it partly for June's sake and partly for Bob's, whose face goes red. Come to think of it, so did June's. When the music stops, he lets her go and leans down to kiss her cheek. She sighs gratefully and scampers off into the crowd, most likely to tell her pals all about it.

It’s only Bing’s misfortune that they’ve been put in the same berth again.

“You practically made love to that girl on the dance floor,” Bob accuses.

It’s Bing’s turn to roll his eyes. All he wanted to do was put on his pajamas and rest before their big day tomorrow.

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous, dad.”

“Isn’t that why you did it? To make me jealous? Or did you really think that you and that bobby soxer were going to end up together?”

Bing sighs. He shouldn’t have flaunted it in Bob’s face, and maybe it would’ve been harmless to dance with his partner just once tonight. No one would have even thought anything of it. Their audiences weren’t as lenient as, say, the Lewis and Martin fans seemed to be, but they knew he and Bob were extremely close. They could've played it off as a gag.

Bing climbs onto his bunk and gets under the covers.

“So maybe I did want to make you jealous,” Bing concedes. “What of it?”

“Only that it worked, is all. You could’ve kept your hands off her waist, you know.”

“I could make it up to you. I could put them on yours instead.”

Bob’s eyes light up at the thought, and his devilish smirk shows itself. Bing knows he’s been forgiven. He turns down the covers for Bob to join him on the narrow berth. They weren’t made to fit two, but they manage.

Once settled, Bob kisses him hard. Bob grasps the sides of his face, leaving Bing helpless to do anything but submit to it. They eventually pull away, breathless.

“I didn’t want you to have her taste on your lips all night.”

He didn’t really do anything more than give her a peck at the end of the song, but he wants to see how far Bob is going to take this possessiveness. Perhaps he'll try and make Bob jealous more often.

“I saw you kiss her goodbye,” Bob insists.

“That’s right. And then I walked her all the way to her apartment. I’ll spare you the sordid details. Your daddy told you about the birds and bees, didn’t he?”

“Who cares about birds and bees when I’m between your knees?”

Bob doesn’t give him the opportunity to respond because he's busy crushing their mouths together, and Bob’s hands begin to wander south. Bing moans when Bob makes contact. Of their own volition, his hands come up to Bob’s waist, just like he’d wanted in the first place.

“I think I like it when you’re jealous,” Bing murmurs.

“You only like it because you know I can’t do any better than you,” Bob counters.

“I like it because I like you,” Bing says.

“You’re going soft on me, Crosby.”

“Who’s calling whom soft?” he half-grunts.

His hand suddenly grips them together, and they both moan, mouths pressed into shoulders to keep anyone else on the train from hearing them.

Bob laughs into the side of his neck. Oh, he might’ve been a little jealous of June, but there was never any doubt as to who the other belonged to. Women and wives came and went, but a partner was forever, even if that meant slick hands and moans muffled by kisses as they zoomed into a new town to do the same show all over again.

“I can’t—,” Bob says with a bitten off moan.

“Then don’t.”

Later, as the train carries them away, resting in their separate bunks, Bing hears a whispered, “Softie,” come from the dark above him.

He smiles at the harmless barb. He can’t seem him, but he pictures Bob smiling to himself in the dark as if he’d just told the funniest joke in the world.

Bing clears his throat, knowing he’ll regret this on stage tomorrow, and softly sings:

“ _It's June in January because I'm in love. But only because I'm in love with you…_ ”


	10. Golden Opportunity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“We’d better enjoy this now, then shouldn’t we,” Bing answers, pushing their mouths back together._

Bing locked his trailer when they snuck in, but Bob knows how large the Paramount lot is. People were nosy, and there wasn’t anyone nosier than an aspiring starlet or a disgruntled pageboy. Because who wouldn’t want to be the one to break the story about the two of them? He could just imagine all the _Road to…_ puns there would be. 

“It’s only a matter of time before someone finds out,” Bob mutters against Bing’s lips.

“We’d better enjoy this now, then shouldn’t we,” Bing answers, pushing their mouths back together.

“Bing…”

Bob pushes Bing’s shoulders until Bing rolls off of him. He’s lying next to him now, and Bob already misses the warmth of his weight and the sweet contact of their kisses. 

“What’s the matter? Can’t you rise to the occasion, old man?” Bing teases.

“I’ll have you know that I am in perfect working condition.”

“Well, we both know that’s debatable, but we can talk about that later. What’s going on in that head of yours right now?”

Bob swallows.

“I heard a rumor the other day.” Bing cocks his head to the side, waiting for an explanation. “It was about us.”

“Sneaking off, you mean?”

“The young lady seemed to think I was your 'favorite girl.'”

Bing tsks.

“Who was it? Maybe we can set her straight.”

“Nice choice of words there, dad. What are you going to do? Invite her back to yours and prove her wrong?”

Bing shrugs.

“I can imagine worse fates than that, you know. I like you just fine, but sometimes a fellow wants a little lady too.”

Bob crosses his arms, still lying resolutely on his back.

“I should’ve know you’d be this calm about all this. Our reputations are on the line, and you see it as a golden opportunity.”

“If it means that much to you, you’re more than welcome to do the honors.”

Bob sits up.

“No foolin’?”

“Would I ever?”

“Please! You're insulting us both with remarks like that.”


	11. Sugar Sweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All Bob can think about is food, but Bing would prefer it if he minded the task at hand instead.

“Have you got any ice cream in the kitchen?” Bob asks.

Bing sighs in annoyance, and his hips stutter out of rhythm.

“Is that really all you can think about right now? Your stomach?”

Bob squeezes his sides with his knees and smiles when Bing moans.

“See you’re not really mad,” he gloats. “So what do you have? Chocolate?”

“Robert,” Bing admonishes.

Bob’s eyebrows shoot up. Bing only used his formal name when his patience was wearing thin. It wasn't as though he could help that he had a craving for sugar. But Bing is looking at him like a parent scolding a child, and Bob has the decency to feel a little bad.

“Aw, don't be sore. It's nothing personal.”

He holds Bing’s face in his hands and kisses him gently.

“’S alright, junior," Bing husks. "Just let me do what I do best, alright?”

And who is Bob to refuse a request like that?

Bing doesn’t disappoint.


	12. If You're Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bob and Bing get mushy over each other.

Bob turns his head to sneeze, and Bing let’s out a stuttering groan. Bob watches his face go slack, a big, dopey grin spread out over his face.

“Gee, what the hell was that about so I can be sure to make you do it again!?”

Bing manages to collect himself before opening his eyes to answer Bob, the tingles still rushing through his body. Bob notices that his eyes look even dreamier than usual.

“You and your big ol’ schnoz are finally good for something. Now I know how an orange feels,” he finally manages. It earns him a laugh.

“Think you might give me the same courtesy one day?”

“Maybe.” Bing kisses him. “If you’re good.”

“Anything for you, dad.”

“Sure, sure.”

Bob knows most people expects them to fight and tease each other every time they’re in the same room, and they’re usually right. But these moments with Bing are always different. Bing is totally different when he was giving a solo performance. He was attentive and sweet and gentle, unless Bob asked him to get a little rough, that is.

When Bing slides all the way in, it feels so good he thinks he might die, and he suddenly gets why the man has an army of children. He gets why those girls follow him around. (Bob often wonders if their mothers know their make-up has been “borrowed” for the day, if they know these bobby soxers aren’t at a sleepover after all. At least, they're not at the kind of sleepovers girls their ages should attend.) He gets why Bing welcomes them into his trailer with a warm smile.

All the more reason for him to feel lucky now. Bob can tell that Bing’s close, and, hell, so is he. He feels it build and build and build, and they muffle their moans in each other’s mouths, making messes of hands and sheets and stomachs.

“Are you alright, junior?” Bing asks.

“Now what kind of ridiculous question is that?”

Bing gives an exhale that means to be a laugh. He pushes himself up on tired arms and slowly slides himself out of Bob, biting on his lip as though he were loath to do so. It suddenly reminds Bob of how sore he is and how filthy Bing has left him. He’s sure that if he were a woman, he’d be giving birth to the next Crosby kid. The man was nearly a virile as Zeus, and it makes Bob rethink that whole "needing to be a woman" thing.

“Joke all you want, but don’t come crying to me that you can’t sit down properly tomorrow.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” He had _every_ right to flatter himself.

Bing ignores him in favor of lying down beside him. He pulls the covers over them both, and Bob turns onto his side so they are facing each other. A gentle, quiet moment passes between them, until Bing brings out a hand to stroke his cheek. It doesn't choke him up. Not one bit.

“Look at me, getting all sentimental over you. I guess I don't really mind your barbs, do I?”

Well, if Bing was going to talk to him like _that_ , it wouldn’t exactly be fair or fun to keep teasing him. That would just be cruel.

“Maybe I'm sweet on you too,” Bob admits.

“If anyone was listening in, they'd think we were a couple of pansies,” Bing jokes.

“I guess they’d be right.”

Bob laughs at his own joke, and Bing swears it makes him look ten years younger.


	13. Going Their Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bob surprises Bing with a visit on the set of Going My Way.

Bing sighs with relief when the director finally calls “cut." They’ve already been shooting for ten hours, but there were still two more to go. He walks past the food table and dodges a few men on ladders, and then there it is: his home away from home.

Bing rubs his eyes as he closes the door behind him. He yawns as he walks the last few feet to the bed when a voice puts him back on the alert.

“Does anyone know I’m here?” Bob asks.

Bing’s eyes snap open in disbelief. He was half sure that the figure of Bob sitting there before him was a result of his exhaustion. Bob looks at him funny.

“Even you didn’t know I was here. But aren’t you glad to see me?”

Bing smiles crookedly, tiredly. “Yeah, I’m glad to see you, junior.”

He hopes Bob doesn’t mind that he chooses right then to collapse onto the bed next to where Bob was seated. Bing lies on his stomach and wraps his arms around the pillow under his head. He stretches out, smiling like a cat in a patch of sun. Bing’s eyes fall half closed.

“You look pretty worn out, dad. Or maybe I should call you ‘father’?”

He opens one eye, tugs his preacher’s collar off.

“Better now?”

Bob shrugs out of his jacket and settles down on his side next to Bing, stroking a hand over his tanned cheek. It offset his big baby blues even more than usual. It was a pity the picture was going to be in black and white. Maybe they thought a priest shouldn’t be that handsome.

“Yeah, I’m better now,” Bob says.

Bing butts his head against Bob’s chest and says, “If you want something, just ask.”

It sends heat down into his stomach and groin, and he feels a little guilty. After all, Crosby was about ready to pass out on him.

“Bing, why don’t I come back some other time?”

Bing wraps a limp arm around his middle. He nuzzles his nose deeper into Bob’s chest until all he can smell is his cologne and his deodorant. The lights are on his trailer, but pressed this close to Bob, it might as well be night. He vaguely realizes Bob’s asked him a question, and fights through a fog to answer.

“If you leave, who’s gonna hold me while I rest?”

“Jean Heather?” Bob asks, eyebrows wagging.

Bob can hear Bing’s breathing evening out, so he lets the poor man drift off in his arms. It wasn’t exactly what he had been hoping for, but he is glad just to have him near and be able to comfort him. Bob knows as well as Bing what a shooting schedule can do to a man.

After a while, Bob drifts off, too.


End file.
